


Put On Your Shelf

by nazsaidit



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazsaidit/pseuds/nazsaidit
Summary: (It’s not the most auspicious of starts, when he thinks back on it years later, but it worked for them.)Before they began, there was a beginning.





	Put On Your Shelf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melk24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melk24/gifts).



> Title from Grace Kelly by MIKA. Enjoy!

The first time they meet isn’t grand at all. There aren’t fireworks, no flashing neon lights, nothing at all to signify that Roope has just met the future love of his life. It’s humid and overcast, heavy grey clouds threatening to unleash their loads. The wind nearly blew the door of the rink off its hinges when he opened it. It was too hot the day before and it will continue to be too hot until the rain comes. The minute he walked in and felt the cold air inside, the sharp smell of the ice filling his lungs, everything in him relaxed. Here, he was home. It didn’t matter where he was, if there was ice to skate on, that’s the only place he’d want to be. Even if nothing else made sense, the ice was there.

 

The calm lasts until he walks into the locker room. Usually the start of the season is always rocky, new guys coming in and out of the lineup, the older generations trying to hold on to their places. He’d been hoping to be the first one to arrive, but there’s already someone there. It’s the new kid, Hei-something. The one who won the Hakala last season with the junior team. Almost immediately, he tenses up before forcing himself to let go of the tightness in his shoulders.

 

“Hey.”

 

His voice comes out oddly, louder than he intended and with a scratchiness that comes from the fact that he’s barely spoken to anyone that day. The kid jumps a little, clearly only noticing that someone else had entered the locker room at that very second.

 

“Hey.”

 

(It’s not the most auspicious of starts, when he thinks back on it years later, but it worked for them.)

 

As he goes to his stall, swinging his gear bag off his shoulder to rest it on the seat, he can feel the kid’s eyes tracking him from across the room. He’s a little annoyed with himself, getting worked up over some random kid. Well. Not exactly _any_ random kid, they’ll be playing together here, and if the rumors are true, they’ll be in the NHL together one day. Roope already knows this is his last year playing in the Liiga. In the year since he was drafted by the Stars and his contract with them still being sent back and forth and around from the Stars’ management to his agent to him, he doesn’t know how long they’ll wait for him. _He_ doesn’t know how long he can wait either. His current contract with HIFK runs out at the end of this season, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. Slowly, the others start trickling in. He nods at the ones he doesn’t know, hugs the ones he _does_ know, and waits. Eventually he hears the kid introduce himself to someone - _Heiskanen, that’s it_ \- and quietly files it away at the back of his mind.

 

The rest of the year goes by, and by the end of the season he’s ready to sign his very first NHL contract. He doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t want to, at least, not yet. Or maybe not just everyone.

 

They’re clearing out their stalls when he catches Miro by the arm.

 

“Can I talk to you after?”

 

It’s a bit of an unusual request. Not that they don’t talk, they’re on the same team and they did the standard exchange of contact information and social media accounts, but they tend to hang out in different circles. Roope’s still relieved when Miro says yes.

 

They walk out together into the cold air, equipment bags thrown over their shoulders. Having given in to the urge to not lug around the heavy bulk of all his hockey gear of the past season, he leads Miro to the car he drove in that day. He tucks his scarf under his chin from where it was wrapped around his face so he can speak.

 

“You’ll be drafted by the NHL this year, right?” He can’t help but still feel a little uneasy around Miro.

 

“Yeah, unless something goes horribly wrong, that’s the plan.” Miro’s voice is light, dry like the air around them.

 

“I’m signing my contract soon. With the Dallas Stars.”

 

They’re standing at the car now, huddled awkwardly close to keep the wind away, and all he can think of is how he’s supposed to be the older one and yet this kid practically 3 years younger than him constantly makes him feel so off-balance.

 

“Congratulations!” Miro hugs him briefly, pulling away before he can even raise his arms to hug back.

 

“Thanks. I don’t know where you’ll end up, but I just wanted to tell you that, you know. I’ll be in Texas, so if you’re in the area or something, you have my number.”

 

It sounds stupid the minute he says it but he’s trying.

 

“America’s pretty big,” Miro laughs out. “Who says we’ll even see each other?”

 

Roope shoves him lightly and they end up tussling for a few minutes, shoving up against each other, bags bumping against each other and the car.

 

“You know what I mean. There aren’t that many Finnish players in the NHL, and well. Even less who played on your team,” he smiles at Miro. “Just one.”

 

“Yeah,” Miro echoes. “Just one.”

 

It feels right to hug him again, ruffling his hair before teasingly shoving him away.

 

“See you around, kiddo. I’ll be watching out for where you end up.”

 

* * *

 

Miro goes third overall. He goes third to _Dallas_ . The odds of that happening… well. Roope knew he’d get drafted early, but to get drafted to _Roope’s team_? He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he sends off a text to the number he hopes Miro still has.

 

_Congrats! Looks like we’re definitely going to see each other :)_

 

He’s not expecting anything back, but barely five minutes later he gets a response.

 

_Thanks!!! Wait for me, we’ll tear up the NHL together!_

 

All of a sudden, he can’t wait. He doesn’t know when it’ll happen, but he knows Miro’s right.

 

* * *

  


_Soon_

 

* * *

  
  


_Oh._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a for looking this over for me, and to j for being my cheerleader as usual.


End file.
